Quiñones Hideaway

Sorry Chris, but I’m rising to a challenge.

Whose books are these I think I know.
But she moved out three years ago;
She will not see me bark my shin
As I pace briskly to and fro.

My neighbors just might think it queer
That I live with no girlfriend near,
When once we shared this four-room flat.
Now just her bric-a-brac is here.

I give my stubbly head a shake
And ask if I might catch a break.
Perhaps just toss her stuff away,
And have it gone, for goodness sake.

The books are stacked, the dust is deep,
And I’ve got too much junk to keep,
And piles to move before I sweep,
And piles to move before I sweep.